Naruto: Before Chakra Emergence

The night had passed like a fleeting dream, and Shiro awoke to the soft hum of his mother's voice. The gentle rustle of fabric and the faint scent of lavender filled the air as she prepared him for something—something important. His tiny body felt light in her arms, the softest cradle he had ever known. He could feel the warmth of her hands, the tender care she gave as she dressed him in fine clothing, as if preparing him for a grand occasion.

His mother's face was kind, but there was a hint of solemnity in her eyes, like she was preparing him for something far greater than just an ordinary day.

"There you go, little one," she whispered as she gently adjusted the fabric around him, making sure he was comfortable. "The clan leader will be pleased to see you today."

The words barely made sense to Shiori, still trapped in his infant body, but the tone of her voice, the air around him—it felt like something significant was about to happen. He could only blink up at her, unsure of his new reality.

His father, tall and imposing, entered the room with a quiet authority. Despite his rough demeanor, Shiro could sense the tenderness in the way he reached down to carefully lift him from his mother's arms. The man's hands were strong but gentle, as if he were handling something precious.

"Let's go, Shiro," his father murmured softly, carrying him with ease.

Shiro's mind spun as he was carried through the vast, dimly lit corridors of their home, the walls adorned with intricate tapestries that seemed to tell stories of ancient heroes and battles long past. The air was thick with a sense of history, and the weight of it all pressed down on Shiro's tiny chest. The world around him felt like a strange, foreign place. He had no idea where he was or what had happened, but one thing was certain: this was no ordinary world.

His father's footsteps echoed through the hall as they made their way to the clan leader's chambers. The door opened with a soft creak, revealing an old man sitting in a chair, his frail body hunched but his eyes bright with an unyielding intensity. The room smelled faintly of incense and herbs, a soothing blend that seemed to ease the weight of the moment.

Shiro's father bowed his head slightly, holding him gently in his arms. "Greetings, clan leader," he said respectfully, his voice steady but filled with reverence.

The old man's gaze, though aged and weathered, was sharp and piercing. He did not respond with the formality one might expect. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Shiro, who felt an inexplicable sense of recognition, like he had known this person in another life.

"No need for courtesy, son," the old man said with a raspy but warm voice. "Let me take a look at my grandson."

Grandson? Shiro thought, the word settling in his mind like a puzzle piece. He had barely begun to grasp his current situation, but now it seemed that his family lineage was more than just ordinary.

The clan leader, moving with surprising grace for someone so frail, approached Shiro. His old hands, trembling slightly, reached out to touch Shiro's forehead. There was a strange warmth in his touch, a sense of power that Shiori could not explain. As his fingers made contact, the old man's eyes widened with awe.

"This child…" the old man muttered, almost to himself. "He seems bright. He is also blessed with the Sage Horn!"

Sage Horn? Shiro's thoughts raced. He could feel it then—a tiny, translucent horn just above his brow. It was small, almost delicate, like a faint, shimmering glimmer of light. How was this even possible? How can a human have a horn? he wondered. What kind of world have I ended up in?

The old man's voice grew louder as he marveled at Shiro's new form. "This is a rare gift, indeed…"

Shiro's head spun with confusion. He wasn't sure if it was the disorienting effect of being reborn into a different body or if the weight of the situation was too much to handle in one go. All he could do was let the words wash over him.

His father, too, seemed caught in the revelation, though his voice betrayed a sense of cautious excitement. "So, the legends are true, father?"

The clan leader's gaze softened with an unreadable emotion. "Indeed," he said with a sigh. "It is rare for one of our clan to be born with a Sage Horn. I hope, my grandson, that you will be the guide we have long awaited."

A heavy silence hung in the air, and Shiro felt the weight of the words settle deep within him. Guide? What did they mean by that? Was he meant to lead them? What exactly are they searching for?

The old man slowly turned his gaze toward Shiro's father, his expression tinged with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Raise this child well," he instructed. "When he reaches the age of five, the training will begin."

Shiro's heart skipped a beat. Training? At age five? This seemed absurd. That's child abuse! he wanted to scream, but his infant body betrayed him. All that escaped his mouth was a muffled whimper.

His father, however, did not seem to share the same concern. "Yes, father. I will ensure he is ready." With a final bow, he turned and left the room, Shiro still cradled in his arms.

The clan leader's eyes followed them as they departed, his voice trailing off as he murmured softly, "He must be ready. For the day that comes."

As they exited the room, Shiori's father looked down at him with a soft, reassuring smile. "Are you hungry, Shiro?" he asked. "Let's get you something to eat."

Shiro's tiny stomach churned, and he couldn't help but whimper. His father hurriedly made his way to his mother's chambers, where Shiro's mother was already waiting, ready to nurse him.

The comfort of his mother's warmth was undeniable, and Shiro instinctively latched onto her with ease. As he fed, his mind continued to race, still trying to piece together the pieces of this strange, new world.

What is going to happen to me? he wondered silently, but there was no answer—only the rhythmic beating of his heart and the soft whispers of a destiny he didn't yet understand.